


In the Walls of Fhirdiad

by Seuris



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Original, And everyone has to deal with their shit as they dance around each other, Claude is a rising assassin, Dimitri is a prince, Does it count if he's alive in this fic?, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seuris/pseuds/Seuris
Summary: All of Fódlan is a mess, a disaster that worsens with each passing year. In his journey to amass the power to change things, Claude von Riegan's path brings him to Faerghus, to face the darkness hidden behind the walls of its capital.A slowburn Dimiclaude fic featuring background relationships, set in a sort-of-steampunk sort-of-fantasy universe.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	In the Walls of Fhirdiad

**Author's Note:**

> Claude arrives, for the first time, in the Holy Kingdom.
> 
> Prince Dimitri wishes to leave.

When he told Hilda he’d be setting off for Fhirdiad, she’d warned him against it so vehemently—a bunch of rich and stuffy religious lords who care more for their church than their people, she said, the complete antithesis of the sort of Fódlan he aimed to create, where its poor toiled in poverty while their nobles turned blind eyes and deaf ears upon them.

That isn’t so different from the rest of this country, he thought to himself on more than one occasion during his journey down the mountain. The regular reports they receive from their hideout in Fhirdiad aren’t all so different from what they hear about Enbarr, or Derdriu. And still, if Faerghus really could be so bad, then all the more reason for him to go personally: if the agents they’ve stationed there can’t handle it on their own, he reasoned with her, then he ought to go and give the place some of his own special attention.

She didn’t tell him it was this _cold_ , though. Utterly freezing actually, the sort of weather he’s never experienced in Adrestia and never would’ve dreamed of seeing in the Alliance. He’s not traveling through Fhirdiad just yet, with its claustrophobic little rows of houses and shops that... probably actually do wonders in sheltering from the winter winds, actually. But the fastest path takes him along the great wall that marks its outskirts, safe passage away from watching eyes practically guaranteed this far from the city, and so all he can really do is pull his coat tighter around him, hunker down underneath the woolly scarf Hilda threw his way once she’d lost that fight, and brave on through the sparse trees here. He’s never been here personally, but it’s a straightforward shot, even if the trek itself is pretty long.

The building his agents commandeered for their Faerghan headquarters isn’t exactly nondescript, but the journey it takes to get there is enough of a deterrent, from what he’s told. Ten or twenty or fifty years ago, Fhirdiad had built the first observatory in Fódlan here, up on this little mountain by the shore, though had little choice but to abandon it once their current king began his… reforms. As the path winds narrow and the building looms closer in view, he realizes he's being waited on. Watched. Claude doesn't falter in his approach even after realizing more and more eyes are on him, and eventually someone thinks to step forward and greet him. As expected, the woman who approaches him has hidden her face before she crosses the threshold, and he's met with an odd variation of the oryx masks his people use in Derdriu.

Right. To the important part. He didn't just show up out of the blue, but a coded letter isn't really assurance enough for business as sensitive as theirs. When he has her undivided attention, Claude hikes up the sleeve over his right arm, just enough to show off his wrist and the Crescent of Riegan that marks it.

His gaze rises along the facade, and he even manages to meet a few pairs of eyes peering down at him. He's never met any of his agents from Fhirdiad and can only wonder what they think, seeing their new leader here. "So..."

* * *

“So. You know, Your Highness, we talked to Lord Fraldarius…”

Dimitri glances up from the book in his lap, only to be met with one of Sylvain’s telltale little _looks_. His eyes are practically shining and he looks so utterly pleased with himself that at first, the only reaction the prince can offer him is a sigh.

“If you’re feeling up to it, he’s willing to let you walk the grounds.” From his position by Dimitri’s bed, Sylvain is able to reach his cane where it rests against the nightstand. He swipes it into a hand and traces patterns in the carpet with its foot. “Not that he conferred with His Majesty about it or anything, _but_ … he said he'd talk the guards into turning a blind eye for an hour or two. Let you get some fresher air in your lungs.”

From his position on the bed, Dimitri can see all of them, Sylvain and his odd entreating expression, Ingrid’s concerned glances, Felix’s… well, he’s always scowling, and this morning isn’t an exception. Dimitri can’t count the amount of times he’s tried to tell his friends they needn’t coop themselves up in the palace for his sake, especially since it isn’t as if they don’t have plenty of responsibilities and tasks that await them outside, but it’s never lasted more than a few days before they come trickling back, insisting on keeping his company. It's always _this_ routine they fall back into, somehow.

“I don’t quite know how ‘up to it’ I feel, at the moment,” he manages to answer eventually, once his friend’s visible impatience wears him thin. Dimitri slips a finger beneath his eye patch to rub at the scarred skin there, then takes care to properly reseat the leather against his skin. 

“If you aren’t feeling well, Your Highness… even if you don’t do very much walking, getting out could do you some good.” It’s Ingrid who offers this, stepping closer to stand at his bedside opposite Sylvain. “They say that the air is clearer now than it has been these past months. Perhaps we could even take you to the Glass Hous”

_That_ is a suggestion that actually gets Dimitri to consider. The Glass House, a greenhouse constructed by his father as a wedding gift to Dimitri’s stepmother, has been closed to the general public since their deaths but maintained, to perfection, by the staff of the royal household in their memory. The prince himself has been largely barred from entering, though mostly because his ailments make moving him safely to and from the Glass House a difficult and time-consuming feat. If his companions were to help him, and at the permission of Lord Fraldarius at that, however...

Dimitri is lost wondering if they still grow the same blooms there, by the time Felix has wandered over to his bedside, shouldering his way between Sylvain and the nightstand; at some point, he must’ve snatched the prince’s cane from the other boy, because he’s holding it in one hand and extending the other to him, more of a demand than an offer.

“He went through the trouble,” Felix says, more of a grunt than anything. “Unless you want to sit here and decay in this bed-”

“No, no. Let us be off.”

It’s a laborious process, just getting out of bed. It’s fortunate Dimitri is more or less dressed enough for an appearance within palace walls so that they might be spared from _that_ struggle, though Ingrid still steps in to help secure his cloak upon his shoulders, unties and reties his shoddy ponytail to better keep the hair from his eyes, even if a few stray locks still linger. Felix all but drags him to his feet one-handed before shoving the cane under his palm, aggressive to some but almost too gentle compared to how he used to treat Dimitri. They all receive his thanks regardless, soft and genuine, as they fall into their usual formation around him: Felix to his right, Ingrid to his left, Sylvain following behind.

The air might be clearer, but once they’ve entered the hall, and Dimitri manages to look up towards the skylights, it’s cloudy. Dark. It doesn’t seem to be raining for once, not yet, but Ingrid walks with a parasol tucked under her arm regardless. As they make their way to the lift at the end of the hallway, Dimitri apologizes, silently, for the slowness of his pace.

“Reminds me, Your Highness.” Sylvain steps forward so that Dimitri can look at him. “Glenn is coming in today too.”

“Glenn is back in Fhirdiad?”

“He just came in from Dagda.” As Felix says this, he doesn’t seem to sound very excited for his brother’s return. “Don’t know where he’s hiding now. My father… is trying to get him cleared for an audience with you.”

That gives Dimitri pause. It’s been, what, a year? Perhaps a year and a half? When Felix’s brother announced his departure from the Fraldarius household shortly after the passing of the king and his queen consort, the lords and ladies of Fhirdiad’s courts were up in arms for months after the fact. The prince recalls how many conversations he overheard lamenting the loss of such a promising and competent young heir, and speculation about what his recluse of a younger brother could possibly offer to his house once he came of age-

“Don’t get what they’re so worried about.”

“His Highness isn’t in a state to be exposed to any outside illnesses right now,” Ingrid says, managing to snap at him without actually snapping. “But, not to mention… there are plenty of people who have still not come to terms with Glenn’s decision.” Felix’s quiet scoff is the last that anyone bothers to say on the matter.

The further down they travel from the royal citadel, the more they see of the maid staff, many of which Dimitri no longer recognizes, though it seems his friends certainly do. The last stretch of their walk before reaching the outer courtyards is a gauntlet of greetings and well wishes for their prince from the servants they meet along the way, some heartfelt and some mostly likely not. Dimitri responds gratefully to everything, regardless of the ache that builds in his arm from clutching the cane so tightly.

He’s tired by the time they arrive, but for them to have gone through this much effort, he doesn’t bother entertaining Ingrid’s suggestion of a break until they're inside the Glass House. Felix is ushering him in with haste, pushing him toward a bench situated in the vestibule.

“I hear that they still grow the same flowers here… do you remember the Faerghan valley lilies?” Ingrid asks. The prince nods. He could never forget such rare flowers, especially not after endless mornings seeing them potted at his parents’ bedsides. It ought not surprise him that they would continue cultivating them here, but…

“I remember.” Even with the height of the Glass House’s walls, he hears the start of rain on its roof, takes a moment to settle himself back into reality, and heaves himself back upon his feet. “Let us go see them.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's two things you need to know going in: the 'Golden Deer' of this universe are informants, assassins, and all-around shady types stationed across Fódlan; after the death of Duke Riegan, Claude forfeited his claim to dukedom to take over the Deer, while the Alliance is now in the hands of House Gloucester. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in decline after the deaths of King Lambert and his Queen Consort; his younger brother Rufus has taken the throne as its regent until Prince Dimitri is of age, though the prince's failing health make his prospects as a future leader quite grim... and the Adrestian Empire is there. Waiting.
> 
> Other less important things you might be curious about:
> 
> Crests still exist in this universe. Some will remain faithful to what their canon counterparts can do and some won't.
> 
> Fódlan's three countries still exist and are pretty much set up the same way, though more technologically advanced. Think something of a level loosely equivalent to the 1800s—guns, ironclads, electricity, to give you a general idea.
> 
> Pretty much every character from the game is set to make an appearance here at some point, some more major than others and a few of them with different allegiances than what they might have had in-game, but this fic is primarily Dimiclaude in spite of any other ships that develop.
> 
> At the time of this fic, characters are around their post-war ages (about seven years past their ages at the start of the game, i.e. Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard are 24, and everyone else's ages follow suit.) 
> 
> Nobles here are referred to exclusively by 'lord' or 'lady' unless they have some significant profession because I can't be bothered with Three House's odd dynamics in that regard.
> 
> This is my first fic in a WHILE and I appreciate any comments you have! Thank you for reading.


End file.
